


Let's Play A Game

by Sorin



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Sex, Crafter WoL, Hopefully they work out :D;;;, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Male Miqo'te (Final Fantasy XIV), Masturbation, NSFW, Orgasm Delay/Denial, but I do love dominant G'raha, headcanons abound, like really light, you might have to squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 10:17:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20864591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorin/pseuds/Sorin
Summary: His lips part a bit, then curve ever so slightly.  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” he says, but something in his tone suggests he certainly does know.  You know that look very well, you’d seen it many times both behind closed doors and out in the wide open- he’d only directed that smile at you, one full of mischief and promise.He is playing a game with you.





	Let's Play A Game

**Author's Note:**

> me: man this idea sounds good, bet I can do it in 4k or less  
also me: takes this idea and goes straight off the rails and into 10k territory
> 
> Someday I'll be less long-winded, but today is apparently not that day. :D;
> 
> This story contains graphic sex between two men, so if that's not what you're into, you can probably get away with reading most of it 'til the good stuff starts.

You’d been suspicious all along, but when he kneels in front of you after you’d absorbed the Light in Holminster Switch, you know it for sure. His sincerity is not at all feigned, but he knows well that you _hate_ having attention drawn to yourself- and that you hate being treated as _more than._ Perhaps that’s why he does it, or perhaps to see if you’ve changed, but either way you immediately turn red as a tomato and pin your ears to your head as you take a step back and lift your hands in protest. You don’t want him kneeling for you, you don’t want _anyone_ kneeling for you- but him most especially. He rises, thankfully, and Alisaie neatly distracts him so you can recover yourself, but when all is said and done, you and he linger a moment in the square.

He looks at you, and were he not wearing his hood, your eyes would have locked. “Shall we return to the Crystarium?” he asks. “You must be weary.”

The look you give him in return is one full of conflicting emotions. _We found nobody in the tower by that name… is there something I should know?_ That cheeky little-! “Don’t think for a second that I don’t know who you are,” you hiss, taking care that the others don’t overhear you.

His lips part a bit, then curve _ever_ so slightly. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” he says, but something in his tone suggests he certainly _does_ know. You know that look _very_ well, you’d seen it many times both behind closed doors and out in the wide open- he’d only directed _that_ smile at _you, _one full of mischief and promise. You remember well how those lips had parted for you before, on sweet cries or deep kisses or anything between, and you know _exactly_ how he is.

He is playing a game with you.

“You little sh-!” You take a step forward, and he doesn’t move- but the smile playing at the corners of his full lips widens just a little.

“Gently,” he murmurs, and though he doesn’t move his head, you sense he’s glanced up to make sure the others aren’t near enough to hear you. You feel it when they return to you, and you can feel the heat in his gaze without having to see anything at all. “You’re awfully certain of yourself, aren’t you… hmm. Mayhap persistence deserves a reward.”

Your tail lashes behind you- you are, if not angry, something close to it. You don’t understand why he won’t just _tell_ you, didn’t he love you just as you loved him?! “You’re the one who should take care, _old man,_” you reply, your teeth clenched so hard it’s a wonder they don’t crack beneath the force of it. “I’ve not forgotten a single second of _any_ of it.”

Once again his lips part a bit, this time in what might be surprise- it’s nearly impossible to tell, and his body language gives little away. He studies you for a long moment, and then that small smile returns. “Shall we make a game of it, then?” he asks, his voice quiet and smooth.

“I’m not fetching aethersand for you,” you say flatly, and his smile widens again- he’s clearly _very_ amused by you.

“No, I should think not.” He looks up at the night sky, then back down at you. “Come- it’s late. If the hour should still find you bold enough to continue this conversation, you may meet me in the Ocular after I have finished speaking with the people of the Crystarium who will want to know what happened.” He pauses, and this time his smile shows a flash of white teeth. “… unless you’d _like_ them to know it was you,” he says, walking past you with no further ceremony.

You watch him go, gaping a little in disbelief. Your historian had never been mild-mannered, but _this_ takes things to a whole new level, even for him. There is quite a gap between the two of you now, however… and that much is apparent as you watch him walk away. He is confident and comfortable in his role as the leader of the Crystarium, and it’s clear how much his people adore him… and how he adores them in turn. It is perhaps the last place you might have expected G’raha Tia to land, but if there is any reticence or hesitance, you don’t see a single trace of it.

Once your comrades have retired for the night, as the sun rises slowly over the Tower, you head determinedly up the stairs. You are admitted without issue, and you find him in the Ocular as he’d promised. He is facing away from you, looking at the portal behind you, though you see nothing on it- and he half-turns, glancing over his shoulder at you. “Well, well,” he says, turning to face you. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come or not, though I suppose the Warrior of Light does not lack boldness.”

Your ears flick in annoyance, and you are tempted to simply walk up to him and kiss him senseless- but he is _powerful_ now, and you’re not certain you want to cross him… especially on the off-chance you’re wrong, though you know you aren’t. “Says the man who yanked us here without a ‘by your leave’,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest and watching him.

“Had I asked nicely, you wouldn’t have come.” He tilts his head a little. “Urianger’s vision is very real, I assure you. If you trust nothing else I say, pray trust this- there is _nothing_ I will not do for those in my care.”

That much is clear, at least, and you nod slightly… then you pause. There is a double meaning there, and it doesn’t escape you. “And is this _game_ of yours part of that?” you ask.

He smiles a little. “That, dear boy, is for you alone.” He looks up at the constellations that span the ceiling of the Ocular, then looks back down at you. “Let it never be said that I am not up for a challenge- and it seems you are much the same.” His smile turns to more of a smirk, and he takes a couple of slow steps toward you. “I am not much of a crafter, however, and thus you have me at a disadvantage. The Mean has several requisitions open that items from the Tower may satisfy. Should your creations fare better than those of Allag, the victory will be yours.”

You regard him with grudging respect. This game of his will benefit the Crystarium, and you can’t find fault in that. “What will I win?” you challenge him.

“A story. … perhaps more than one, depending on how well you do.” He tips his head a bit, looking at you with a grin. “Well? Do you accept?”

“I accept,” you say, ears perked forward- you are eager now, because you _know_ you can best him in this little venture. “What are the items, then?”

He pauses, then lifts a hand in a shrug. “It is perhaps less an _item_ and more an _idea,_” he says. “Due to our lack of resources, we are oft required to do things the creative way. The Tower has proven a great help in that there are many things we’ve been able to repurpose; thus, the Mean’s requests that are perhaps a little… different than what you’re used to.” Another pause, then that mischievous quirk. “I trust this doesn’t deter you…?”

You’ve got a good reason to succeed, and you put a hand on your hip. “Not in the least,” you reply, affecting the same easy sort of arrogance he’d had back then- gone entirely now, replaced with confidence and poise. “The request, then?”

“With the Light now gone from the sky, we will be able to properly grow food again. There are, of course, many plants native to the First which managed to withstand the onslaught, but most all of the seedlings that we’ve attempted to plant have wilted when grown outside the Tower.” He looks at you steadily. “Do you know why that might be?”

You’d heard G’raha go on at great length about this, and you swish your tail, pleased. “The Tower was built to absorb the energy from the sun,” you tell him. “Emperor Xande’s greed caused the Fourth Umbral Calamity by attempting too much, and that is when it was buried. It resurfaced after Cartenau.”

If nothing else, his smile is what gives him away now. “Very good,” he says, sounding extremely pleased- you had listened to him, and clearly gleaned something from the books you’d read together as well. “The Tower is able to provide the light the seedlings need, and though I do not see it running dry at any point in the near future, it would be best to figure out how to move this venture to the out of doors. We do not yet know what the weather patterns will look like in Lakeland, though the accounts I’ve read have stated it is a mild region with plenty of rainfall. When people fled the Flood they didn’t necessarily consider bringing gardening tools with them; thus, we need to design new ones that will preferably improve upon the old.”

Your mind races- you’ve already got an idea in mind, and you give him a pleased hum in response. You pause, then, and raise an eyebrow. “Using machina will make this contest one-sided,” you tell him, and he seems pleased as punch- if you could see his ears, they’d be wiggling happily. You’d teased him back then about loving Allag more than you, and he’d pouted for so long that you laughed and kissed him… and he’d pounced on you, threatening to use the machina to hold you in place. “I surmise that you know this, and it would be poor sportsmanship to rig the game in your favor.” You flick your ears. “You haven’t said what _you_ will win, either.”

“Did I not? Hmm… it must have slipped my mind. Old age will do that to a person.” He shrugs and looks around the room. “Well, then- for the nonce, I suggest you get some rest. You _have_ just felled a Lightwarden, and you are yet mortal, despite the insistence of those around you that you drive yourself into the ground. Our situation is indeed dire, but you have won us a great victory, and I would not see you wounded in battle due to carelessness brought on by exhaustion.”

The look you give him is one of amused irritation. “All right,” you agree. “How long do I have to craft the item in question?”

He smiles a little. “Three days?” he asks- he clearly knows you are extremely good at your craft, but by giving you that much time, he is _also_ making certain you rest instead of working yourself to the bone. When you nod, he nods in return. “Very well. Good night, then.”

You pause, then turn on your heel and head toward the door. You _are_ tired, and enough of that is emotional exhaustion that you think it best to excuse yourself from his presence. You are looking forward to this, that is true, but part of you is frustrated and angry that you’re having to go through it at all. Why, you ask yourself, why couldn’t he just _tell_ you? It’s with no small amount of irritation that you close your door harder than you truly ought to in the Pendants, but your expression softens when you look at the table… and you sigh, then smile faintly and shake your head. Infuriating though he may be, he _does_ care, and that shows in everything he does.

When you lay down to sleep you assume you’ll drift off quickly, but instead you lay awake and stare into the darkness of your room. It’s too easy to let your mind drift to the way things had been back then, to the way you’d been before… you, and _him._ You curl up on your side and sigh faintly, draping your tail over your legs and tapping the tip of it against the sheets. Back then he’d been wild and unreserved, eager to learn about himself, about the Tower- about _you._ The two of you had been nigh inseparable once you’d been assigned as bunkmates, and though the other researchers seemed to like him well enough, they gave him a fairly wide berth whenever possible… and thus, you as well. You’d had plenty of time to come to know him beneath the expanse of stars that scattered heavily across the night sky above, by the campfire as you read together, as he sang for you- everything from traditional songs from his family and his people to tavern songs from across the world. His voice was _so_ beautiful, and you’d heard it commented on here as well- everyone knew he sang extremely well, though it was rare for anyone to have heard him do so.

Of course, there were _other_ ways he sang for you, too. He’d been no blushing maiden come hesitantly to your bed, uncertain of himself and his desires- he’d known exactly what he wanted and how best to get it, that being _you._ It had been with near-expert finesse that he’d seduced you, and though you’d long known you wanted him, it had amused you to let him try- and you had to admit, he really was good at it. You hadn’t played hard to get, that isn’t your way and never had been, but you’d made him wait _just_ a little, and the reward for that, _oh…_

Heat comes to your cheeks, and you huff impatiently into the silence of the room. Now you _really_ won’t be sleeping any time soon.

You push the blankets back and roll onto your back, lift your hips and slip the soft trousers you wear down and out of the way before settling back in, gazing absently up at the ceiling as you rest your hands lightly on your thighs. You wonder, briefly, if he’s watching you from that portal of his… and you close your eyes as a soft, breathy laugh escapes you. Well, you think, if he is, you’ll give him a good reason to _keep_ watching- and a good reason to lose this contest of yours. Pinpricks of excitement dance along your skin as you imagine his eyes on you, and then you give yourself over to a memory of that very thing as you trail your fingers slowly inward, lips parting slightly as your breath hitches.

_Go on. I want to watch you._

_Really, Raha-?_

_How better to learn than by observation?_

How amused you’d been, though you’d obliged him. You’d been uncertain if he’d meant watching you ‘til the end or just for a little while, but those hungry mismatched eyes of his had trained on you until you’d spilled over your hand and stomach- and by then he’d been wet and aching himself, and you’d teasingly bid him return the favor.

He had, and _gladly._

You feel your cheeks redden as you think on it, as your strokes go from light and teasing to firm and sure. How he’d _watched_ you, taking in every move you’d made, lips parted a little and the tip of his tongue darting out to wet them as heat had built within him as well. You could tell he wanted to touch you, and you’d kept your gaze on his as you’d pleasured yourself, panting a little and breathing his name. More than anything, you think, _that_ is what had caused him to break- you’d snuggled close to him when he’d taken himself in hand, bit the shell of his ear lightly and trailed your tongue along the edge, then breathed his name again. He’d gasped faintly and arched his back, and you’d reached down to help him as he tipped over the edge—

_Ah! Raha-!!_

You are panting in truth as your eyes focus once again on the present, and your cheeks are burning. The memories had become so painful that you’d not thought much on them for quite a while, but it wasn’t until far later in the arms of another that you’d realized you didn’t want to lose them. That wasn’t to say you thought of him during those times, but when you were alone… he was always the lover you courted in your dreams. A heavy sort of lethargy spreads through you now, and you sigh softly before reaching for a discarded shirt. That will do well enough for the time being, and when you curl up on your side next, you are sleepy and relaxed. The blankets are soft and heavy, and you close your eyes. You want him here, want him with you… and if you have your way, if you win this little contest, you’ll have the truth from the enigmatic _Crystal Exarch._

The following morning you wake refreshed and determined. You head straight to the Crystalline Mean and look around curiously, ears flicking in the breeze- it’s a pleasant morning, you think, cool but not too cold. A look up at the sky shows it to be clear and dotted with fluffy clouds here and there. You hum softly to yourself as you wander through the area, finally stopping in front of Katliss, who greets you with a smile.

“Hello there,” she says cheerfully. “I’ve already heard of the wondrous things you’ve made during your stay- are you here to offer your services again?”

“I am, actually,” you say, smiling back at her and swishing your tail. “I’m told that with the weather returning to normal, it’s time to start thinking on properly gardening- and eventually, farming.”

She nods, smile widening. “That’s so!” she said. “I put out a requisition not long ago- the Exarch told me he’d look around in the Tower, but that he felt like there were a few things that might be useful. Did he bid you come help as well?”

You pause, and struggle not to blush. “In a manner of speaking,” you reply, trying hard not to pin your ears. “He thought it might be something I could help with. I’ve a couple ideas, but… I’ll need to use your forge.”

“Of course,” she says warmly. “Feel free to, and should you require materials, don’t be shy about asking for them.”

With a happy thanks, you head back to the forges and look around before unhooking your bag from your back and setting it down. You’ve got just the thing you need, you think- you’d done a small bit of gathering since arriving just to see what sorts of minerals were present, and it is a blueish ore you draw out and eye critically. You like it already just based on its appearance, and so you set about seeing how well it will do with being forged into other shapes.

It is bells later before a familiar voice draws you from your work, and you look up curiously to find Alisaie watching you. “What are you making?” she asks, moving forward to peer over your shoulder. “It looks… like a hand tiller-?”

“It is,” you say cheerfully, “or rather- it will be. I’ll want to test it before I declare it ready for use.”

She pauses, then puts a hand on her hip. “You’ll have to forgive me for being obtuse, but… why?”

You pause- you won’t tell her about the Exarch’s challenge, you think, not just yet- maybe not ever. “Well,” you say, “the Exarch bade me rest, and I don’t want to laze about when there are useful things I could be doing otherwise.” You smile at her, and though it looks like she doesn’t _entirely_ believe you, she accepts your explanation.

“Well,” she says, “I suppose it is far less dangerous than going out and fighting the sin eaters.” She droops just a little, and you put your tools down, turning your attention to her.

“Alisaie…?” your voice is quiet, a gentle invitation for her to speak her mind- or not, as she chooses.

She looks at your rough tiller, nowhere near completed, and shakes her head a little. “When I first arrived here, I attempted to get the Exarch to tell me _why_ he’d taken me from your side that day- you’d have thought I struck him. He sounded utterly dismayed… and not a small bit defeated. I couldn’t imagine a need more dire than ours, than _yours,_ and his attempts at soothing me grated on me instead. I admit, I wasn’t kind to him- not at first- but… he grew on me, over the first week or so I was here. I witnessed several sin eater attacks, not on the Crystarium as a whole but in Lakeland, and that is what it took to tell me that he truly _did_ have good reason for trying to reach us. The more I wandered the Crystarium, the more I learned about the love that man bears his people… and, well, I had to admit that I wasn’t as angry with him anymore.” She smiles wryly. “Save the part of him yanking me from the battlefield.”

You smile and nod. “I wasn’t happy with him for that, either,” you say quietly- you remember how she’d begged you not to leave her, and then, well… “But,” you continue, “you’re right- everything he does seems to be with his people’s best interest at heart. I still don’t know why he hides his face, but it’s always been that way, so- it must just be who he is.” He always did have a flair for the dramatic_,_ you think fondly. “He’s the one who told me that with the Light gone, it would be wise to figure out how best to farm the land- so I figured I’d see what I could do to help.”

Alisaie looks over your work and hums thoughtfully. “Well,” she says, “I admit I don’t know the first thing about farming, but- is there aught I can do to help?”

You would truly love her company, you think, and you smile brightly. “Of course,” you say, gesturing to the forge. “I’ll have you run the bellows, if you’re willing. That will grant me more time to make sure the spikes are the way I want them.” She needs something to do to take her mind off of what she’d seen in Holminster Switch, and you are loathe to turn her away.

“I think I can manage,” she says, rolling her sleeves up and joining you at the forge. “Just tell me what to do.”

As you work, it’s clear her curiosity is growing. You are painstakingly careful, making sure every detail is correct- the wheels must turn freely so as to avoid getting stuck, and the blades need to be strong to withstand rocks in the soil. You are working on adding a layer to the blades when she finally asks you why you’re _really_ doing this, and you pin your ears as you look at her with a sheepish smile. “Is it obvious?”

“Very,” she says, amused. “Well, then?”

You look back down at the till, then sigh. You’ve kept this to yourself for so long it seems odd to even consider speaking of it, but… you trust Alisaie, and you like her. She has become a loyal friend over the years you’ve known her. “I think I know who the Exarch is,” you finally say quietly, and she gasps before looking around quickly and moving closer, coming to stand right by you. “Back home… you know there’s a Crystal Tower on the Source?”

She nods thoughtfully. “I don’t know anything about it, but it’s rather hard to miss,” she says. “It’s taller than the Keeper of the Lake, and far more pleasant to look at.”

You can’t help but grin, and you nod in agreement. Luckily there’s nobody around to hear you, and the roar of the forges and other business going on is loud enough to drown your quiet conversation out quite neatly. “Before you and I ventured into the Coils of Bahamut, I was tasked with helping the Sons of Saint Coniach in their investigation of the Tower. It was there that I met him- he’s one of the Students of Baldesion.”

“Gods be good,” she manages, clearly startled. “In that case, you should ask Krile for more information- if anyone would know, it would be her!”

Krile can’t tell you half of what you know about G’raha, and you smile sheepishly and flick one of your ears. “I don’t think she’ll be able to help us with this. After we felled the Lightwarden, I approached him- I was angry with him for hiding from me. We… were friends.” You pause, then look down at the tiller. “… more than that. I don’t know why he’s refusing to tell me who he is, but I am almost entirely certain that my mind isn’t playing tricks on me. He challenged me to best him in a competition that will aid the Crystarium- how best to farm the land- as he’s got who knows what in that Tower of his that might be useful. If I win, I’ll have the truth from him. … hopefully.”

Alisaie studies you, then a slow smile crosses her face. “Well, then,” she says, “we’ll just have to make _certain_ you win. I hope you didn’t agree to this little contest with no terms…” You pin your ears again and she sighs, exasperated, then cuffs you gently on the shoulder. “Well, then,” she says, “that could work to our advantage, too. Let’s get back to it, shall we? Since you didn’t agree to any terms, I’m now _fully_ invested in helping you, and it seems there’s very little he can say about it. Now, then, I’ve a few ideas…”

The three days fly by with her assisting you, and the two of you wait rather smugly outside of the gates as the farmers go over the tools you’d made. You have the hand tiller you’d designed with a special handle that she’d suggested to make it easier on the back, and then a much larger tiller meant to be hitched to a chocobo- or an enterprising farmer, depending on the day. The Exarch appears quietly, as is his way, with something that resembles a Magitek claw closely enough that both you and Alisaie instinctively reach for your weapons. He grins and shakes his head, lifting a hand in a gesture of peace.

“It’s harmless, I assure you,” he says, “though I realize it does look rather familiar to you both. Many of the Empire’s technologies came courtesy of Allag. I must admit I don’t know what this was _originally_ intended to do, but with a bit of tinkering, I think I’ve managed to…?” He pauses, watching it as it hovers over the ground, spreads its claws, and slams itself down. He takes a step back, startled, then sighs and shakes his head.

Katliss stands next to him, arms crossed and lips twitching ever so slightly as she tries not to laugh. “It seems a bit… confused, my lord,” she says delicately.

Alisaie grins outright and puts a hand on her hip. “That’s one way of putting it,” she says as she watches it push dirt around as it twitches.

The Exarch clears his throat. “Well,” he says, “perhaps it does need a bit more work. I’ll give it over to Spagyrics, then, and we’ll see what they can do with it in the coming moons.” He looks at the two of you and smiles warmly. “It seems you’ve won our little contest, though I admit I hadn’t expected you would seek aid.”

“Your only term was that I create something that would best your technology,” you say smugly, tail swaying gleefully behind you. “I did, with Alisaie’s aid.”

Alisaie looks up at you and smiles, nodding, then looks at the Exarch and gestures to the tillers. “Similar things are used at home, of course,” she says, “but when our friend told me what it was he planned, I thought of my grandfather and what he might have designed. Something simple and easy to use, yet extremely effective.”

“You have outdone yourselves, both of you,” the Exarch says warmly- he truly does approve, and you feel a bit of heat come to your cheeks. “Master Louisoix would be proud, I am quite certain.” He turns to Katliss and tilts his head. “Does their design meet with your approval?”

“More than,” Katliss replies cheerfully. “I’ll have our crafters on it to make more as soon as we can gather the materials.” The Allagan machina makes a strange sound and goes limp, and she takes a quick step back. “As for that, it looks too much like a spider for me to want to have anything to do with it, so I’ll leave it in your hands.”

The Exarch laughs and shakes his head ruefully. “I’ll handle it. Thank you, Katliss, for indulging us.” He turns to you as she and the farmers head over to examine your work. “Well, then,” he says, “I will keep my word, of course. Will you be joining us, Mistress Alisaie?”

Alisaie shakes her head. “Thank you, no,” she says. “I’ve neglected Alphinaud these past couple of days, and I need to make sure he’s not causing problems for Moren.” She grins. “Victory is its own reward.”

The Exarch chuckles quietly. “That it is,” he agrees. “Very well. Thank you for your help in this little venture- I will remember your talent for design.” He looks at you, then, a faint smile playing about the corners of his mouth as Alisaie heads back to the Crystarium. “Well, then… shall we?”

You nod, swallowing against a suddenly dry mouth, and follow him toward the Tower. You’d been so wrapped up in your work that it had become more about the creation and less about the prize, though you still want it- _badly._ You find yourself nervous, though, and you aren’t entirely sure why.

The walk up through the Tower with him by your side is almost eerie in its similarity to what it was before, all those years ago- before you’d lost him to it. You walk up past the Ocular, which comes as a surprise- up further beyond the water crystals and their unending deluge, up to the very top of the Tower where Xande’s throne sits. He walks a few paces ahead of you, looking at it and then up at the sky as the sun begins to set.

“Once, long ago, a child was born to a man who’d thought his ability to sire one beyond him. This man had begun to lose hope, for he was possessed of a gift that he knew he must pass on- the Allagan eye. One male per generation was born with it, and being the Nunh he had many sons, but none shared this trait with him… not until the very last. The woman who bore him this child had already given him two daughters, and she was without question the woman he loved. It seemed fitting, then, that this son he had so longed for be granted him thanks to her.” The Exarch stood still, gazing up at the throne. “As the boy grew, the other children began to realize he was different, be it for his eye or his lust for knowledge or the simple fact that his father dared to love his mother, and they shunned him. He journeyed to Sharlayan, determined to learn the true purpose of the Allagan eye… and some years later, joined the Students of Baldesion and left to chase his heritage straight to Mor Dhona- to the Tower itself.” He glances back, then, that same slow smile curving his lips. “Who do you think he met on that journey? The history books differ in their accounts.”

Your tail flicks behind you as you watch him. “There are books on that in the Tower?” you ask.

His smile widens a little. “Books yet unwritten,” he agrees. “There are many tomes with blank pages whose authors have yet to set pen to paper. Well, then? Can you finish the rest of it?”

Your tail flicks again, this time in vague irritation, but you feel his gaze on you and you gather yourself. “As I understand it, he led the Warrior of Light on a merry chase through the Twelveswood to prove his worth,” you say, watching his smile become somewhat of a smirk. “He was arrogant and childish, but he…” Here you trail off, and you look away. It doesn’t matter if it’s _him_ standing there, it still _hurts._ “He was _everything_ to me,” you finish, your voice soft and choked.

Silence falls between you for a few breaths, then he slowly walks closer to you. “Magic is a funny thing,” he says quietly, “the flow of aether even more so. One can use it to change a great deal about themselves, should they wish it- or, in turn, have it change _them_ when harnessing it.” He holds his right hand out, clearly intending for you to take it, or at least reach out and touch it- and you do, trailing your fingertips along the glittering golden veins just beneath the surface. You can feel his pulse fluttering at his inner wrist, though it feels more like the flow of aether than blood, and look at his face in vague surprise- is he _nervous?_ He isn’t looking at you, but rather your hand on his arm. “I am bound to the Crystal Tower, thus I will live on indefinitely. It has marked me, and I am… truly, this- I do not think I can still call this body _mine._ It has become an extension of the Tower, a vessel that holds me in place. Nothing more.” He pauses, takes a soft breath. “But, some things… I _can_ control.”

You don’t know what he does, but it feels like a glamour has fallen away right before your eyes. He _looks_ the same, certainly, though you note that his hood is far less concealing than it had been before- though he keeps his face averted, you can see a tuft of red hair by his jaw… red fading into white. He no longer smells like the Tower, either, and _that_ is what sends you reeling- your breath hitches on a sob and you use the hand you have on his arm to pull him close to you. He is surprised and falls a bit off-balance, but you catch him and hold him tight. He is tense for a brief second and then he melts into your arms, against your body, and his lips seek yours—

Gods, it’s like no time had passed at _all._

“Raha,” you say, and when your voice breaks he holds you tighter. “Raha, my Raha-!”

Without the glamour to hold it in place, his hood falls back and the sweet face that greets you is as familiar as your own reflection. He flicks his ears, almost stretches them seeing as how they’d been pinned to his head beneath the heavy fabric, and looks at you with brilliant red eyes. He takes a slow breath and smiles, and those eyes well with tears. “It’s been so long since I’ve been called by my name,” he breathes. “I had… I had nearly forgotten the sound of it as you speak it.” He looks down a little, then looks back up. “I am no longer that young, optimistic historian. I know… I know that what you feel is for him, not for me- not as I am now. Selfishly, however… if you will but grant me this one indulgence…” He hesitates, then lifts his left hand to touch your jaw and neck. “As surely as your heart broke when the doors swung shut, so did his. I would see those wounds mended… at least for now.”

You look at him in confusion, then shake your head. “I don’t… it’s _you-_ how can I not-?”

He silences you with gentle fingers against your lips, smiles up at you- his eyes crinkle at the corners, just as you remember. “I have spent the last century loving you, even though the details faded in my mind as time went on- no matter how hard I clung to them. The sound of your voice, the whisper of your skin against mine, the fine details all vanished in the mist. Lest you doubt, however, there is one thing I do remember very clearly.”

_Century?_ You are about to ask him how that is even remotely possible before you recall what he’d said about time passing between the shards, and then he is singing softly and thoughts of anything else disappear from your mind just like that. You are suddenly back in Mor Dhona, and he is teasing you gently because you can’t quite sing as well as he does, but how he’d lit up when you’d offered to teach him a song from your childhood- he’d listened eagerly, ears perked all the way forward. That is the song he sings now, simple and warm, and you are reminded of all of the best things about those days as you slowly start to sing along with him. True to his word, he’d not forgotten a single note, and you could cry because it’s _him,_ you have him _back,_ and you pull him into your arms and hold on tightly as he trembles.

He draws back after a few seconds and studies you, then smiles a little, soft and wondering. “Even knowing all that you do about me and the Tower, you still don’t draw away?”

“Why would I?” You tilt your head, confused. “You’re you, Raha- did you really think I wouldn’t recognize the man I love?”

Ruby eyes widen a little, then fall half closed as he smiles at you and nudges his nose against yours. “Well… no.” His smile turns to a grin, and he brushes a kiss against the corner of your mouth. “That, dear heart, is why we’re here. Even from the beginning you suspected, and I knew that battling with you in Holminster Switch might give me away- but I had no choice.” His expression becomes serious, and he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t soon send you off to face a threat against my people alone if I but had the ability to join you… and as it happens, here in Lakeland, I do. So long as I am able, it is my dearest wish to protect you.”

You study him, take in the look in his eyes- they are nearly endless, confident and sure of himself and his powers. He’d been uncertain back then, not quite knowing where he fit in, but now there’s no sign of that. Your heart aches as you wonder if he’s right, if the love you bear him is the memory of who he was, but… even if that’s the case, you know, you _know_ you will love him just as much now. You bite your lip, an old habit- worrying at it as you think tends to give you away- and his grin returns as he nips at the corner of your mouth, making you let go with a surprised huff. He claims it instead, kisses you long and deep and shudders against you.

“Truly, I fear the years have done little for my stamina,” he says, his voice somewhat breathless as he noses at your cheek. “Luckily, however, I’ve little need for it- at least for the time being.” Before you can ask him what he means, the look he gives you from beneath long, thick lashes is enough to set heat low in your belly. “Our game isn’t over, I hope you know.”

“No?” You are unflinching as you look back at him, and you can’t help the near giddy rush of anticipation that floods you- it lights your eyes, urges your lips into a smirk, and when he sees it he can’t help but touch his lips to yours again. “What would you have of me, then?”

He gives you a knowing look. “What are you willing to give?” he counters. “I intend on taking my sweet time getting to know you again- every single ilm. Much as I hate it, most of our encounters have been dulled in my memory by our years apart- many more for me than for you. I would see them rekindled.” He grins, then, a look that makes your ears quiver just a little. "In order to best do that, of course… you’ll need _your_ stamina intact. Shall I help you, or will you try on your own?”

You swallow thickly. That is an excellent question, you think distantly- typically you’ve never had issue with that, but after having been away from him for so long… you take a breath, then nod slightly. “I’ll be fine,” you say, “but- if I should fail?”

“That would be a pity for both of us.” He smirks at you again, then takes your hands and speaks a soft word of command- the night sky remains above you, the stars coming out in droves as the sun sets, but you’re clearly elsewhere in the Tower now. There’s a very comfortable looking nest of pillows and blankets arranged on the floor, and he gestures to them. “Please,” he says, his ruby eyes holding all the invitation you think you’ll ever need. “But first… you’re overdressed.”

You recognize that look, you think- more than once he’d watched you undress, mismatched eyes glued to you as you slowly bared more and more skin for him. You lick your lips and flick your ears, then begin doing exactly the same- first your boots, then your jacket, the shirt underneath… onward until you’re entirely naked, fearless and unashamed beneath his gaze. He closes the distance between you, slipping out of his sandals first, then lifts his hands to cup your face and kisses you softly, _sweetly- _not even the mischief in him can hide his adoration. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, making you blush a little. “Even back then, I thought so- from the first time I set eyes on you.” Gentle hands rest at your waist, points of heat like a furnace- he is _warm,_ always has been, even his right hand feels like heated glass as it rests against your skin. “Ah, and so eager- it’s _flattering._” He looks down at you, then back up at your face with a light blush of his own. “Keep your hands above your head, and otherwise- be still.”

You lay back in the nest of pillows and blankets at his urging, look up at him and pout just a little. “After all this time, you’re going to make me wait for it?”

“I’ll hear that gorgeous voice of yours begging me before we’re finished.” He gives you a heated look, then ghosts his lips against your jaw, down your neck. You shiver as he explores you, doing exactly as he said he would- he takes his time, commits _everything_ to memory once more, and you ache to do the same even as he stokes the flames within you higher and higher. Each brush of soft lips, each gentle scrape of teeth, each puff of breath- you feel it keenly, feel it throughout every nerve in your body, and he finds the spots you like and returns to them over and over again, never lingering long in any one place. He presses hot, wet kisses to taut nipples, teases them with the tip of his tongue and makes you gasp and arch your back a bit, then moves lower, scattering kisses across your stomach and hips. It’s nearly instinct to spread your legs further when he sits back and rests his hands on them, and the look he gives you this time is knowing. He leans down as though he’s going to give you what you want most, then shifts downward to work on your inner thighs, dragging a whine from you despite your attempts at keeping quiet and still. You arch helplessly and spread your legs further, knowing full well how wanton you look and caring not a whit- he is _merciless,_ each move deliberate, and when he sits back and looks at you again your skin sports several red marks that will darken to bruises… and you are slick with need, shifting your hips restlessly beneath the intensity of his gaze.

Needing a second to compose yourself, you close your eyes and focus on breathing evenly. He grants it to you, at least a _literal_ second- then your eyes fly open in shock at the brush of gentle fingertips along the length of you, trailing down the underside and lower still before trailing back up. He lets out a soft breath and smiles, teases the tip and spreads the moisture there before trailing back down, repeating the motion and wringing a groan from you even as you grit your teeth. “That’s it,” he purrs. “Let me hear you- I want to know how much you want me.”

“You…!” You gasp and arch your back, curl your hands into loose fists- though you do keep them in place as instructed. He’d said nothing about your tail, and it taps an uneven rhythm against the blankets as you tremble, as your ears pin to your skull. You would have _preferred_ at this point to grab him, to flip him onto his back and-

“Me?” he asks innocently, derailing your impromptu fantasy by continuing to stroke you lightly, idly, almost as if an afterthought. He is still fully clothed save the sandals and armbands, and his robe is _infuriatingly_ concealing… but he tilts his head and flicks his ears, and you are gratified to see the dark blush splashed across his cheeks and nose.

You shiver and lift your hips just a little, seeking more of his touch, but he quickly puts his free hand- and a great deal of weight- on one of your legs while keeping his other free to continue tormenting you. “Raha,” you manage, struggling gently against him. “P-please…”

He smirks at you, and you feel like lightning shoots through your veins as your blood burns. “You’re getting the hang of it,” he observes. “I suppose that deserves a little something as a reward.” He draws his free hand back, making you gasp and whine at the absence of the touch you so _dearly_ need, then reaches into the pocket of his robes and draws a small vial of oil out. “I’m sure by now you’ve realized I had no intention of winning our little contest… _this_ is the prize I wanted.” He grins lazily at you, flicks his ears happily. “Roll over, and get up on your knees. Keep your hands under the pillow, if it suits you.”

It doesn’t, you think, but you’re enjoying his game enough that you don’t care. You do as you’re told, looking back over your shoulder at him and flicking your tail- and you are gratified to see that blush darken further. “I want you,” you breathe. “Please, Raha…”

Licking his lips with the tip of his tongue again, he carefully slicks the fingers of his left hand before setting the vial aside. He strokes your tail with his right hand, dragging his nails gently at the base and making you squirm- you can’t help it, your tail curls around his arm, and he chuckles quietly. He takes a second to rub his cheek against the soft fur, then reaches forward with his left hand to delicately tease your entrance. “My beautiful Warrior,” he purrs. “Don’t hold back- nobody will hear you, this I swear. You are _mine,_ and I do not share.” He flicks his ears and grins at you, then gently presses his finger into you. You gasp at the feeling of it and push your face into the pillow- whether or not anyone will hear you, you’d rather not yell to the heavens just yet… you imagine there will be plenty of _that_ later. It’s been a little while for you, and the intrusion stings, but he is gentle and careful even in all of his mischief. It isn’t long until the sting gives way to a warm, deep sort of pleasure that goes straight to your groin, and you groan faintly. “That’s it,” he says softly. “Relax… and if it hurts too badly, tell me. I won’t harm you, not _ever._”

You take a deep breath, then peek at him again. “I trust you,” you say, and _ah,_ how those ruby eyes shine! Your own fall closed as he moves his finger carefully, and when you are starting to roll your hips with it and getting impatient for more, he adds another. He stops until you relax, then continues on, steadily driving you to madness. His memory hasn’t dulled quite as much as he thinks it has, you think, or maybe he’s done this in the interim- either way, you appreciate his gentle care as he makes _very_ sure that pleasure overrides pain. You whine just a little and press your hips back again, then gasp as those fingers curl _just so_ and you see stars. “Ah, _Raha!_” you cry, burying your face in the pillow again. You feel how he shivers when you cry his name, and you tuck that away for later- he _likes_ it.

“Good boy,” he praises you, his voice low and rich. He curls his fingers again, making your hips jerk involuntarily- and he chuckles quietly. “Ah, you’re getting desperate, aren’t you…” He adds a third finger, again going very slowly at first, and you whimper and push your face hard into the soft fabric. When he feels like you’re ready he draws back, and you look at him, face flushed and eyes darkened- and he keeps his gaze locked on yours as he slowly unfastens the golden belt he wears, then the clasps that hold the heavy sashes in place. He is a marvel, _so_ beautiful, and you whine a little as he bares himself for you- more than anything you want to touch him, to _taste_ him. You watch him slick himself and make another quiet sound, then bite your lip hard. “Now, then,” he breathes, resting his right hand on your hip and positioning himself carefully with his left, “tell me if it’s too much.”

He could take you all at once, you think dimly, and you wouldn’t be able to get enough.

You are still and patient regardless as he presses into you, though a shudder rips through you at the sensation of being filled after such a long time. Slightly built though he is, that _doesn’t_ apply where it matters most, and it takes you a few seconds to catch your breath. You are panting by the time he’s fully seated, and your tail lashes against his side as you look over your shoulder at him, pupils blown wide with need. “Raha- please, gods, _please,_ just-!”

“Please what?” he asks with a smirk, leaning forward a little and bracing himself carefully so he can drag his nails against the base of your tail again, earning himself a surprised yelp.

“_Move,_” you manage, gritting your teeth against the urge to do it yourself. “I need you, _want _you, _please-!_”

He leans over you and presses a hot kiss to your shoulder blade. “Very good,” he purrs, and he rewards you by giving you exactly what you’d asked for. The rhythm he sets is maddeningly slow at first, and you whimper and struggle to stay still- but you look back at him anyway, and the look of pleasure on his face makes you suck in a breath and close your eyes as his brows knit, as he begins to move faster. You feel yourself starting to tense a little, your breath coming faster and shallower in response- and that’s when he draws away, earning himself an _embarrassingly_ loud cry of protest. “Come here,” he says, his voice low and rough, pulling you towards him and settling you in his lap. He buries himself within you again in short order, forcing your spine into a tight arch as clever hands stroke your inner thighs and stomach, over your hips and back again.

You whimper and press your face against his soft hair, feel his ear flick a bit against your cheek, and take a soft breath. Pleas spill heedlessly from your lips as you reach back to grab his sides, as you roll your hips ever so slightly and try to will those impossibly warm hands to where you want them most. One- his right- lifts and settles lightly on your chest, and he shivers and presses his lips to the nape of your neck. His touch is strange though hardly unwelcome- it’s _him,_ no matter what, and the smooth, heated crystal feels incredible against your skin.

“I can hear your heart racing,” he breathes, spreading his fingers and pressing his palm to it, “feel it caressing my hand- you’re barely hanging on, aren’t you…?”

In truth you are probably closer than you want to admit, but you know you have at least a little bit of control left to your name. Still, you lift your own hand and press his harder against your chest, trace the golden veins running throughout and then twine your fingers together. Your other hand rests on your thigh, clenched into a tight fist as you resist the urge to take yourself in hand. “Raha,” you whimper. “Raha, I…!”

“There,” he breathes. “Darling Warrior, you’ve done so well… ah-!” His breath hitches as he lifts his left hand to your aching length, and he shivers. “You’re soaked, poor thing… shall I take pity on you?” He rocks his hips carefully, unable to move much thanks to the angle, but it’s enough to drag a groan from you. He immediately lifts his right hand from your chest to press against your throat, taking care not to hurt you- but the pressure is enough to make you gasp. “I want to feel every breath, every sound,” he breathes, and you shudder in response.

Now, you realize, will be the true test of your self-control. You close your eyes tight against the onslaught of sensation, caught between the hand stroking you lightly and the one pressed to your throat, the way he throbs a bit inside of you- he is close too, just from all of this, and _that_ is a rush that makes you whine. “Ra… ha,” you manage, letting your head fall back and bare more of your throat to him.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “You’re incredible… just a bit more-…” He presses a little harder, tightens his grip, and nuzzles the nape of your neck as he rocks his hips, changing the angle ever so slightly. When you stiffen in surprise and then push back against him, a warm, rich laugh makes your lashes flutter. “Ah, _there-!_ Good,” he croons. “Let me see you… I want to watch you finish.”

You gasp and pant, roll your hips almost frantically back onto him and forward into his hand. One of your own braces you against his hip, the other rests over his right and presses it harder against your throat as you see stars exploding in your vision. Never have you felt like this, _never,_ and you are utterly lost in sensation- but what undoes you in the end is _him,_ feeling him tense and watching his toes curl, feeling his tail winding around your own- that’s all it takes, and you find your peak with a yell. You feel like it lasts an entire sweet eternity, spilling heedlessly over his hand and the blankets beneath you even as you feel him do the same within you, shuddering as he throbs hard and nearly sobs your name… and then his strength is all that holds you up. He drags your hips back as he presses his forward a few more times, then lets out a quiet whine of his own and presses his forehead against your shoulder. You stay put as long as you can, make a quiet sound at the loss of him inside of you- and then he pulls you down with him, and you hold him tightly against your body.

The two of you lay still and quiet for a long while beneath the stars, the ones you and he had worked to set in the sky. You smile faintly as you study them, then look at him curiously as he drags a thick, heavy blanket over the two of you. “Are you cold?” you ask softly- he’s shivering, so he _must_ be, but… he feels as warm as ever.

“A bit,” he says, but he doesn’t look at you- he tucks himself against you again, rests his head on your chest. He is quiet for a little while, his ear twitching ever so slightly against your skin, and then he begins tracing the scars he can reach. Your heart beats a bit faster at his gentle touch, and he laughs quietly, turning his head to press a kiss to the skin above it before peering up at you with those brilliant eyes of his. “Again?” he asks teasingly.

The idea _does_ sound appealing, and you grin sheepishly. “I could,” you admit, and he grins and noses at your jaw.

“Mm… you’ve not changed at all,” he murmurs. “I’m so glad…” He trails off, then settles back down again, this time pillowing his head on your shoulder as he resumes mapping your scars- some new, some familiar. “I had truly feared forgetting you entirely, even though fairly early on in my time here I wrote down all that I recalled. It has helped, but admittedly, this has helped _far_ more.”

You chuckle softly. “All for the sake of research, hmm? It sounds to me like you’re not much different after all.”

He laughs as well, gives you a tight hug and presses closer. “Gods, I missed you,” he breathes. “For now, however, this… whatever time we have together, whatever our feelings for one another may be- they must remain hidden.” He looks up at you and smiles faintly. “Please believe me when I say that if I could but show the world how very much I love you, I would do it without question or hesitation… but for now, I’ve good reason to keep my counsel.”

“All right,” you agree- he’d not cared for secrecy nor hiding before, going so far as to sit in your lap at the tavern one night when the lot of you had gotten _far_ too deep into the ale… but that young man hadn’t been the leader of hundreds of people. “So long as I have you to myself sometimes-?”

“Always.” He kisses your neck, then pushes himself up and smiles at you, ears wiggling gently. “Whenever you are in residence at the Crystarium, you may come to me- I will always welcome you.”

You grin playfully at him. “No more games?” you ask, pouting just a little.

“Oh, I didn’t say that,” he purrs in response, nipping at your lower lip and then giving you a kiss that tells you that he, too, is nowhere near finished. He shifts over you, warm and solid and _real,_ and making love with him beneath the heavy blanket feels like bliss- like _home._

You can’t think of anywhere you’d rather be.

Though you both have to resume your roles when the sun begins to rise, you are happy as you put your armor back on and watch him dress as well. He smiles at you as you help him with his belt, carefully clasping it around his slim waist and leaning in to steal a kiss as you do so- he kisses you back, lifts his hands to frame your face and then wraps his arms around you. “I love you,” he breathes, and though it isn’t the first time that night he’d said it, your heart leaps in your chest and you blush fiercely.

“I love you, Raha,” you murmur, and he blushes too- then kisses you again, long and slow.

Time can wait for the two of you for now, you think, and you are all too glad to simply hold him close in your arms. After all this time, you can’t think of anything you want more… and he seems to feel the same, standing as close as he can and nuzzling your neck.

For now, all that matters is this.


End file.
